Interpenetration
by Malty
Summary: The line between science and magic isn't so much crossed as it is set on fire. The line between exorcist and his apprentice.. Chas and John. M to be safe.


John wasn't a rookie, he knew that alcohol had a way of revealing things that people couldn't stomach hearing if they were sober. To him, it insisted on revealing that the truth of the world was that it existed without miracles, and every evil stemmed from people attempting to deal with that. Constantine was well aware that in the scheme of things he was doing nothing more than stacking up chips, and that the closest he would ever get to a miracle was amassing enough to bargain with. Booze didn't help him forget that even for a minute, but he drank not to forget his bitterness, but for the pleasant floaty space that formed around it. His life was still a fucking curse, it just.. Stung less.

Like right now his door was being pounded on, and he was rightfully pissed at being woken from his booze-induced coma. But the floaty space allowed him to open the door to Chas without throwing a bottle at him, which was close to a miracle for Chas.

Chas was slumped against the doorway and heaving for breath as if he'd run.. Whatever distance it was healthy people ran before their lungs hurt.

'John, I really shouldn't be here,' he said.

'Not now,' said John. From this angle he saw the array of bottles on the table resembled a tiny city skyline with vodka for skyscrapers. Their dominion over the flat had grown unchecked since his apprentice/driver had failed to turn up earlier today.

Chas kind of rolled in after him with his head tipped back against the door frame, exposing his throat. His skin was so pale that John could see the blood pumping underneath.

'Chas, I have an exorcism tomorrow at three. Do I need to find a new driver if I expect to get there?'

'No..' Chas said through laboured breaths, 'No, I'll be here.'

'Today is coming out of your pay.'

Chas simply closed his eyes instead of pointing out that John rarely paid him. He reached out blindly for the door handle – once, twice, and still his eyes remained closed and the door open. John sank a quarter of a bottle watching him fumble before the irritation galvanised him to act.

'This,' he said, leaning over him and pulling the door closed, 'is why I don't let you help.'

Chas cocked his head at him. He was so warm John could feel it through his shirt.

'Chas, why are you here?'

'Because you didn't pay your fucking phone bill,' Chas said to his chest, swaying a bit, 'I had to drive over here to tell you I'm too sick to drive you today.'

'That was stupid.'

Chas almost smiled. He looked like Beeman after a few.

'I didn't want you firing me.'

'Don't flatter yourself. I didn't notice.'

Chas frowned like he'd forgotten what an inherent bastard John was. 'John–'

Then Chas was on the floor. Just like that. And John was left staring at the wall where Chas had been resting a second ago. He looked around the flat as though maybe there was a sniper in the wings before stooping down to Chas' body; he was breathing, and there his first aid knowledge ran dry. He ran his fingers over the boys throat to find his pulse was practically thrumming.

John sat back on his haunches. 'Sick.' _Adjective_: A pathetic version of health people developed when they lacked the balls to just walk around with a terminal disease.

Medical staff liked to ask questions almost more than Chas did; things like next of kin, place of residence, age and other petty details John had no desire to learn about him.

'What a waste.'

The vodka in him had an idea.

* * *

Chas sat up to find Chas was still led down. Which was unusual.

'Um.. What?'

He was, without a doubt, sitting on an uncomfortable couch in John Constantine's apartment, and he was, (without a doubt), sat next to himself, asleep on the same couch.

He jerked away like the other version was on fire.

'JOHN!'

Chas huddled in the deepest corner of the couch, as far as he could get from himself in such a small space. His eyes were glued to the other him.

'John, I think I have a fever or something I am really freaking out.'

'Like, out of_ body_.'

'Constantine!'

'Chas,' John gave a sigh, 'Don't make me regret this.'

His eyes darted to John at the table like he was the adult here and that solved everything.

'Regret fucking what? What is this?'

'Nothing you didn't want.'

Chas flinched. 'Fuck off,' and John smiled at his reaction.

'Maybe I'm not even here. You think maybe you're dreaming?'

'I can't be.'

'Why?'

'I don't dream.'

John shrugged. This would be a pretty lame dream anyway.

Chas, seeing that the other him was pretty solidly asleep, unconscious, out of it, slunk backwards up onto the armrest and looked at John. Looked at himself. Looked at John again. John drank from a skyscraper.

The light in the flat was harsh, casting shadows on Chas' face that made him look more serious. He clasped his hands on his knees like he was in a hospital waiting room, but it did nothing to change the situation. There was still another Chas led on that couch, and John was still smirking, smoking and watching from a few feet away. Chas reached his foot out to nudge at the unconscious version of himself.

'Fuck,' he said under his breath. 'Can you do that to someone against their will?'

'You're always willing.'

Chas raised his eyebrows.

'Is this good for me? I'm sick you know,' but even running his hand through his hair he looked healthier than he had done, healthier than the other Chas.

'Yes it's a terrible tragedy,' John said, 'you're young, you'll get over it.'

'Why?

'Because you're stupid mainly.'

'Why are you doing this?'

'You ever think you have a different calling Chas?' He pictured him as an archaeologist, digging and digging until he found some insignificant dead thing and deemed it a success.

'John, come on talk to me.'

John stubbed his cigarette on the table. The smoke swirled and danced around him slowly, drifting up into nothing.

'Maybe one day I'll show you.'

Even though he was looking in John's direction, it was clear half of Chas' attention was on his other self, like it was a dark thing he had to check was still in place. A spider that wasn't moving.

'Are you punishing me?'

'For what?

Now Chas shrugged, like John didn't really need a reason to do something bad to him.

'You're more like a guinea pig.'

Chas raised his eyebrows like that wasn't much of a distinction. He lifted his arm to study it, frowning as though it could give him the answer.

'It's astral projection, Chas. Don't strain yourself.'

Chas froze as everything he had read about the subject seemed to come together and form a spreadsheet to be compared against his experience. Then he dropped his arm, more curious than wounded.

'Why?'

'It can be useful.'

'For scaring apprentices? Come on.'

John poured himself another drink and avoided his eyes.

'It's dangerous, isn't it. That's why you used me.'

'Is that something you read?'

'..More like a prediction.'

'Yeah well you won't remember this.'

'What's the point in astral projection if you can't remember what you do?'

'You can remember it. I said _you_ wouldn't.'

'This is getting creepy, John.'

John choked on his gin. 'Getting?' And then he laughed.

Chas faltered at that, and John leaned towards him, finding it important that Chas understood this. 'This isn't creepy, this is fucked, but rats don't get shit up when they're being experimented on Chas.'

He waited for the explosion. In fact, he leaned into it.

But Chas was turned inwards rather than out. Maybe John really did treat him terribly. Chas looked at himself, and John, the researcher, wondered if this was stranger to Chas because he was out of body, or to himself because he could see the whole scene. Two Chas Kramer's on the couch, one unconscious, sweating and giving the occasional twitch, and the other watching him with dark eyes narrowed, barely moving.

'This is how you see me.'

John looked at him – the Chas that Chas was looking at. (..Fuck.) Restless whereas the kid in front of him had a stillness, a sureness, that was unnerving in context, and attractive without.

It hit him as plainly as the smoke in his lungs; Chas was attractive. He drew things to him, even if those things were usually trouble. Whereas John had trouble in his life because he'd caused it, Chas had trouble because he _asked_ for it.

John sat back, rolling his shoulders so the joints popped, trying to dissipate what had coiled when Chas failed to take the bait. The cigarettes barely penetrated the edge any more. He tipped his head back on the exhale, exhausted.

'I don't see you Chas. You're just there.'

'Sure, that's why you used me. I was there.'

'I told you it was an experiment.'

Chas had moved back onto the couch-proper, slowly closer to his unconscious-self. He was playing with the shoelace on the foot of his counterpart; one of the more surreal things John had witnessed, but Chas didn't seem aware he was doing it and John soon lost track of everything but the movement of his fingers. This was the longest he'd ever seen him sat down when he wasn't driving.

Always useful, that was why he kept him. Occasionally rewarded.

He would probably end up killed.

'Some experiment. How much energy is it taking you to keep me like this? You're not using me for anything.'

John nodded. 'You're right.'

'I am?'

'Make yourself useful.'

Chas' fingers stilled.

'Go on,' John said, 'we've got you here. So what can you do?'

John's legs were wide, he held his chin in one hand and with the other gestured like he was a pornographer and Chas was auditioning. The cigarette helped that illusion.

Chas stood up and John was struck by how assured the motion was, how unlike his normal aura.

'What do you want from me?'

'Show me something.'

Chas smiled and John caught something predatory in it. He gestured to himself and his other self.

'This isn't enough of a show for you?'

'No, _I_ did this.'

'Using spells in books I found, I bet. And I doubt you procured the materials on your own. You probably ferried them back here in _my_ cab with_ me _driving.'

'Since when do you use words like 'procure'?'

'I read it somewhere. I learned. You should try it sometime.' Chas had this slight smirk John had only seen a handful of times that said he had a card up his sleeve. It disappeared as quickly as smoke left through an open window.

'John,' Chas licked his lips like he was preparing to say something important. 'Can I be hurt like this?'

'You should be able to feel pain, but it doesn't injure your corporeal self.'

'So what's to stop me attacking you?'

Of course it had crossed John's mind that astral projection could be used to inflict hell on your enemies without danger to yourself, but it disturbed him that Chas would think of it. Chas was expected to use it to steal licorice. So he stood up and flicked cigarette ashes at his exposed arm.

Chas hissed at him.

'You feel that?' John said, 'Then you can feel pain. Attack me if you think you can take it.' He leaned against the couch so they were level.

For a second he thought Chas might accept the challenge and hit him, but Chas actually looked more as though he might laugh from shock.

'You know John, it's not like I'll remember if you're kind.'

'Careful. I said you won't remember.'

Chas did laugh a little.

'I thought things would feel distant but they feel closer.'

John felt something tug at his awareness at that, a reminder that information like that was what he should be taking away from this, but Chas backed away and took his attention with him. Chas Kramer wasn't interested in what he had to say.

He left himself and John behind, pinpointing the physical components of the spell easily, running his fingers through the candle flame like John had seen him do before but without the care that made it worth watching. John almost thought he was going to end the spell himself. He picked up the knife and ran his fingers along the blade and John thought he might actually be impressed if Chas ended it, if he tired of their game.

Then Chas sank the knife through his own palm.

The world tilted. John yelled, at his side before he knew it, grabbing his hand and – completely without thinking – _yanking_ the knife out. Chas was pulled roughly to him, breathing harsh.

'You said it would hurt.'

'Then what the fuck were you thinking?'

Chas looked down at John's hand cradling his, and John nearly clocked him when he saw that fucking smirk again. 'This isn't real,' Chas said like an accusation, 'I've never been stabbed. How could I know how much it hurts?'

John was still holding his hand to stem the blood flow. He should have left the knife where it was and he was on the verge of sticking it back in when Chas' words began to filter through his anger. This wasn't real. Chas was fucking with him. He released him with a jerk and looked down at himself to see a plain white shirt, free of bloodstains, covering his chest as it heaved, and count the little fuck lucky. With the appointments he'd missed today he couldn't afford the $200 for a new one.

Chas held his hand in front of him to see the huge gash in his palm already smoothing out.

John stared at him like he'd never seen him before, and for a moment Chas stared back.

Chas wandered away from him then, John's seething failing to hold his interest; John, failing to hold his interest. Chas drifted closer to the couch and studied his counterparts hand in a detached fashion – clean, unblemished.

John watched him and felt the bitterness sharpen in his gut and didn't really need a reason why.

'What if something happens to him?'

'You don't want to find out,' John said as evenly as he could given the bile running through him.

'Do you care what happens John?'

'It's your anchor. _You_ care.'

'Like you do about yourself?'

It was then that John realised his mistake. He'd been more focussed on Chas' temporary stab wound than the very real weapon that made it, and now Chas was hovering over his counterpart with a knife held in his hand like a stick of candy floss.

And that really fucked him off.

'Chas, knock it off. You don't hurt things. You break things.'

'And how is that fair John? You get to go around delivering bitch-slaps to the whole world and it's mother, and me?_ I break stuff. _I wait in the cab. And I bring you everything of value while you sit in the back seat and roll your eyes through the smoke.'

John stopped right in front of him with his jaw clenched, their eyes locked on each other. 'It isn't fair,' _you stupid, stupid kid_, 'but it's part of the agreement.'

And he took the knife from him, their fingers brushing. It was abundantly clear to him that he wouldn't be adding this spell to his arsenal. He'd heard the results could make you reckless but this was unhinged, if Chas was acting like this who knew what John was capable of. He considered getting in a few punches before he ended it, just to ease his tension.

Chas' eyes whipped to him when he confiscated the knife, promising a challenge John no longer wanted.

John dropped into his chair as if pulled and Chas followed.

'You think I don't know your game John?'

'Fuck off unless you want to get hurt, Chas.' While Chas may never have been stabbed, he knew full well he'd been punched.

Chas stood over him, his face shadowed. He moved further into John's space. Into his legs.

'I think you just want us to be separate. I think there's nothing standing between us.'

Then Chas was on him. He felt the inside of his thighs against him and looked up into the eyes of a boy who resembled his apprentice a great deal, and then that face was too close to focus on.

'Chas,' but he was cut off by soft lips, and the bitterness and the anger in his core gave way to something more insistent.

Chas was just as warm as he'd seemed earlier, John could feel it all the way to his stomach as Chas' hands slid into his hair at the same moment John's tongue slid into his mouth. So what if the body wasn't real? It felt real. It felt real under his fingers, over his lips and brushing his thighs.

Chas moved to suck at his neck, lingering for just long enough to make John ache for something harder before moving down to lavish attention on another expanse of skin, until he was over-sensitive to every touch. His hips were rocking slowly into Chas without his permission, and Chas responded by lifting his head to kiss him again and lifting his hips just enough that John followed.

'John', Chas said against his mouth, holding John's head so the kiss was the only pressure, the only affirmation between them and their bodies were so close, _so close_ to closing the connection but Chas held them apart so all John could feel was heat. Heat radiating from Chas, the wet heat of his mouth and heat writhing in his stomach.

Chas' hands slid down his sides, easing himself flush against him, so tight their breathing mixed. He was rocking back into John now, and some part of John had known since the first touch that they were going to end up doing this on the floor because this chair wouldn't hold them much longer. He kissed and kissed, all the while planning his next move, and the same part that in his head already had Chas on the floor felt the hot slick of blood on his hands that he knew, logically, _couldn't_ be there.

Chas pulled back just far enough to look at him. He took John's hand in his as if he knew that was where John's awareness was hovering, and placed a kiss to his blood-free palm before guiding it to rest on his hip, and John knew that if Chas continued to hold him in that gaze he was fucked, he didn't have a choice about what was going to happen.

But instead Chas' gaze followed their hands, and when their eyes met John saw every time he'd wanted this in his eyes, and he knew it was reflected back in his own, and it created just enough space for him to remember himself.

They leaned into each other, lips meeting in something so soft it could only be a prelude to the shuddering, writhing mess to come.

This time Chas ducked his head lower, and John curled his fingers around the back of his neck, memorising the feel as he watched his apprentice shiver on the couch.

John muttered under his breath. He felt Chas pull away to look up at him, but looking back meant death.

He breathed another incantation, and Chas was gone.

John's hand hovered in the air, full of nothing, trying to deal with how much he wished he could follow.

* * *

When Chas woke up, the first thing he saw was the broken husk of a chair on the floor. It looked like it had been smashed against the wall, and he wondered how he'd slept through that. The second was a box of medicine close enough nearby that it seemed to be meant for him. Chas took it without realising it had recently expired, and came to learn that what he hoped would make things better was just as likely to make them worse.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


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